Operation: Slave Ruse, a Star Wars Fanfic

Operation Slave Ruse Part 12. Another Clever Ruse.

Red District-Shandaar Market, New Vertica. Location, Nar Shaddaa. Time:

The inner city grew out of the cracked sidewalk like the jagged gap-toothed grin of an old junkie. The only splash of color in the grime came from the lurid graffiti and the burning glow of colorful neon lights that illuminated this downtrodden sector of the bustling city. The sidewalks were littered with injection paraphernalia, empt and shattered bottles of cheap booze, and on occasion small amounts of loose credits. From every covered doorway came the dejected stares of humanoid sentients in their pathetic cardboard sleeping bags. From upper windows came the boom of subculture music. The alluring, but desperate hookers stalked the streets in their skimpy outfits and high boots looking for work, their drug-addled bodies as thin as pins, their cheekbones jutting out through pallid skin. In the distance a lost child wailed for his mother while blaring sirens echoed from substandard policing operatives zipping across other sectors of the decaying Smuggler's Moon.

The further one went into the inner city of New Vertica, the deeper one would be submerged in disputed gang land territory. The red district of Nar Shaddaa was one of the most contested areas among the local gangs given the amount of untaxed credits that rolled in from the selling of illegal weapons, unrefined spice, lewd slaves, pirated software, and stolen hardware. Whatever one may need off the books, someone at the Shandaar market bazaar probably had it and would sell it for the right price. No one dared enter the red district, let alone this particular bazaar without carrying a concealed blaster or vibro knife stashed away as a means of protection from those who preyed upon the unsuspecting among the crowd of prospective buyers. Around the packed and lively area shopkeepers screamed out offers at the top of their voices to attract customers to buy their enticing, yet illegal wares as customers desperately tried to bargain for the best possible prices on procured goods. It was always heavily trafficked by seas of sentient alien life, and not a single empty place could be spotted between the various and shady vendors under the glow of neon lights.

Intermingled with the crowd of exotic off-worlders and local inhabitants, keeping their heads on a swivel as they moved through the mass of people, the undercover trio blended in as they searched for the location of the Shandaar slave market. According to Brri's source of information, the slave market would be located past the bazaar and held in the arena; a popular, and unregulated attraction that facilitates illegal prize fights before crowds of cheering fans. The trick would be to get in and grab Sitka before anyone could identify the disguised trio as liberators. Much like Ri and Nika, they were dressed to make themselves less conspicuous as they weaved their way in and out of the crowd of people as they moved down the length of the bustling bazaar. Arson led the way and kept his sidearm close as he traversed the crowd with his two mandalorian associates, disguised as an off-world smuggler while both Brii and Cat'tra were disguised as prospective slaves he wished to sell; at least that was their cover story if anyone questioned them at the slave market. Arson didn't like this and he was beginning to develop what Gek had come to believe since the start of their mission: slavers need to be taken down and their enterprise dismantled and burned. He felt sick to his stomach, but he held himself together as he mingled and kept a steady pace alongside Brii and Cat'tra.

The disguise he had worn in Ja-hutta seemed to work in his favor as no one among the crowd suspected him to be an operative of the Galactic Republic. The thick, grey ribbed shirt and dark wash blue trousers, equipped with a drop-down leather holster was quite convincing. His hands were sheathed in black, fingerless gloves, while his right wrist carried a strapped communicator so he could keep in contact with the rest of Valor if anything changed with Ri and Nika inside the nightclub. To ensure no one recognized him as a clone, he wore a weathered helmet of silver with a single horizontal visor that shielded the upper half of his face from identification. A single strap rand down either side of his check and ran underneath his jaw. It was very different from the bucket he was so accustomed to wearing while on assignment, but this was an unusual circumstance that required creative improvisation on behalf of his two associates he had requested his aid.